Friday, January 27, 2012

Perhaps I was feeling incredibly optimistic on the day I wrote the 10% post. I think it's more like 15-20%.

Last night I babysat. I can't remember if I've mentioned this before, but I babysit for two adorable boys once or twice a week. W is 4, and G is 18 months. They are truly great kids!

After I had put G to bed, W and I were playing with cars. I point to the purple one, and tell him that's my favorite. He looks up at me, and says,

"Are you the mommy of somefing?"

Stunned silence from me. Mouth gaping. You can picture the face, right?

I reply, "No, not yet."

And he asks,

"When will you be the mommy of somefing?"

Sadly, I say, "Hopefully soon."

And we resume playing with cars.

Even after I put W to bed, even after I am on my way home, I can't shake those questions. I tried. I blasted my iPod on the way home. Tried to sing along, and just forget it. I couldn't do it.

Then I start worrying about being in a sad mood when I get home. I hadn't seen Buster all day. When I left for work, he was still sleeping. Now it was nearing 9:00 p.m. The last thing I wanted to do was to be a crumbling mess when I really see him for the first time that day.

When I got home, I tried to put on my "everything is fine" face, but he knew better. He asked what was wrong, and I told him. And he held me.

I apologized for being sad when I got home, and I told him I know he doesn't like it when I get home for the day in a bad mood. He then says, "No, only when you're a bitch to me." I crack a half smile.

He hugged me for another minute, but had to let me go because Kelsey was getting extremely jealous. She's very protective of her daddy.

Buster mentioned that I should have told W that I'm a mommy to Kelsey, and honestly, it crossed my mind. But I thought that if I did say that, it might draw out the conversation, and I did not want that.

I am feeling better today, however. We have a busy weekend planned, and I'm looking forward to it. And I'm hoping those questions won't continue to haunt me.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

A conversation with a friend about tampons today made me realize that I don't have any.

At some point, after one of the ultrasounds where we got to see our (living) baby with a beating heart, I gave my sister a whole box of tampons. Because, well, I wouldn't be needing them again for 9+ months, right?

The cost of the tampons isn't the issue here, obviously. But when the memory of me giving the tampons to my sister popped into my head, I felt... embarrassed.

It was some sort of symbolic gesture. Me giving her something I wouldn't be needing for quite some time. For the first time since I was 13, I wouldn't be having periods.

And thinking back on that moment today, I feel ashamed and embarrassed. I know I shouldn't, but I do. I feel naive. And gullible. And stupid.

Add this to the ongoing list of things I definitely WON'T do if I'm lucky enough to get pregnant again.

For shits and giggs, here is that working list.

THINGS THAT WON'T BE HAPPENING IF I'M LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET PREGNANT AGAIN:

I will not be inviting my parents to an ultrasound.

I will not be giving away my tampons.

I will not tell anyone until I get into the second trimester.

I will not be signing up for any weekly email updates about what size my baby is.

I will not be signing up for any free subscriptions to pregnancy magazines.

I will not go to Barnes & Noble and spend $40 on fancy pregnancy magazines.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

If you are looking for something to watch on TV tonight around, oh, 10:00 p.m. EST...

I highly suggest checking out Face Off on SyFy. I'm a fan of pretty much any show where people have to create something (Project Runway, Chopped, etc). Add a fantasy/sci-fi twist, and I'm smitten. The contestants are special effect makeup artists, and it's amazing to see what they can create.

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I love how sometimes Pandora can surprise me. It just took me back 10 years.

Work has been busy to the point of insanity. This is helping me by keeping me distracted. If it was slow (like it typically is), I'd be more likely to find some way to depress myself.

Also, I've taken on some long-term freelance work. I will be redesigning a website and maintaining it. I've never designed a website from start to finish (other than blogs), so this will be a fun (and tough) project for me. I'm looking forward to pushing myself and to learn new things. Especially something that could potentially make me a lot of extra cash on the side.

So, 9-5 work and freelance work is keeping me occupied.

I went to lunch with my friend on Sunday. I was a bit apprehensive about this lunch date, as she is 18 weeks pregnant. I just wasn't very confident in my ability to be able to keep my shit together.

But, I did. And I can honestly say I did not feel one ounce of bitterness or jealousy towards her. Not to sound like I'm totally patting myself on the back here, but I'm really proud of myself. I'm not sure how I managed to not let those feelings creep in, but I did it.

As much as I hate using cliches...

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Right?

She remarked several times during our lunch at how well I'm doing and how she really admires my positive outlook and attitude. And that got me to thinking that maybe I am doing pretty well, regardless of that whole 10% thing. Maybe I need to give myself a little more credit here.

My friend also said that after she was cleared to start TTC again after the miscarriage, they tried for 3 months before she got pregnant again. During those 3 months, she went crazy. Charting, temping, OPKs, etc. And it was overwhelming to her. TTC and the roller coaster of emotions associated with it consumed her.

And we all know what that's like.

She commented then that she doesn't know how anyone can keep doing that, and maybe she said something along the lines of being impressed with my attitude, given all we've been through and how long we've tried.

Which led me to think about how hopeless you feel at times TTC. How alone. How abnormal. How jealous, and bitter, and resentful, and lost.

Perhaps my skin has gotten thicker. Maybe I'm so used to the bad stuff that I can deal better with it when it happens.

Or maybe it's just part of the roller coaster, and I'll get back to that hopelessness at some point.

Or maybe I've gotten through that "phase" and I've graduated to something else? I know I don't want to go back to that place, so I'm going to try my best to remain positive and hopeful for the future. Even given everything that's happened. Even though life can be so cruel. Even though my dreams were shattered three weeks ago.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

I needed to bring our marriage license to the car dealership. They were attempting to finish up our paperwork, but the vehicle we traded in was in my maiden name. So, they needed my marriage license.

Not wanting to bring the license to the dealership all unprotected and exposed, I decided it should go into an envelope.

I knew we only had one in the house, and it was currently being used. But that's the only thing I could think of to house this document.

So, I removed the two ultrasound photos that were living in the folder. Put them in a filing cabinet with sweet cards that Buster has given me over the years.

And all of the sudden, I broke down. Buster comes in, asks what's wrong. I tell him. I expected him to be exasperated. Exhausted from my mood swings. To sigh, roll his eyes, or walk away. Or all three.

But instead, he just held me close. And I cried, for the first time that day. Maybe for the first time in a couple of days.

You know how people say they feel like they were punched in the gut? It is so fitting to describe the wave of sadness that hits you every so often. Sometimes it's triggered by what someone says, what you've looked at online, the date, a pregnant belly. Sometimes the catalyst is your own mind, racing too fast and thinking too many things.

If you've suffered a loss, you know all of this already. I know I'm not the first to feel this way, and I won't be the last.

I feel like this isn't me, and not my life. Sure, I feel practically normal most of the time. Probably 90% of the time. Buster and I have really been enjoying each other and our life together.

But when that punch in the gut happens, it knocks me into some strange nightmare. Where nothing is right and good, and never will be.

Friday, January 20, 2012

After posting practically every day since we found out our baby died, I have been slacking.

I just don't have much to say I guess.

I am, of course, still dealing with the emotional aftermath of a miscarriage. And the hormonal imbalance of a body that was pregnant one day, and not pregnant the next. Today marks two weeks since the d&c.

Unpregnancy symptoms:

My face has broken out horribly. Much like it does when AF arrives, and when I ovulate. I was enjoying the break from these cyclical self-esteem killers. At 30, I always assumed I'd have nice skin. But, I assumed I'd have babies too. The younger me was laughably naive.

No more sore boobs. In the beginning of my pregnancy, they weren't sore either. But as things progressed, they started to get sore and tender. No more, which is great news for Buster. He can go back to the surprise tweaking of my nips whenever he's feeling feisty (and just to clarify, this happens when we are not "doing it", this happens while I'm cooking dinner, or walking through the house, or whenever he feels like it).

The veins that made a dramatic appearance on my boobs have diminished. They are still a little more noticeable than they were in the past, but nothing like a couple weeks ago.

I am no longer going to bed at 8:30 p.m. I've been staying up until 11:00 p.m. (gasp!), and on work nights! So, no more fatigue.

The pangs of nausea I had been feeling every now and again have subsided. I did have some leftover nausea last week, but I can happily report that as of this week, it is no longer. I never really minded the nausea when I was pregnant, but after the d&c, it just seemed like a cruel joke.

So, the unpregnancy seems to be almost complete. I will head in for another beta on Monday.

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Some random thoughts:

Every time I see a preview for Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, I cry.

I really plan to do a TV post soon. I've been watching Project Runway All Stars, Face Off, and Top Chef. Oh, and Dance Moms (don't ask! I blame the fact that last season it was on directly after Project Runway. I don't really have an excuse for continuing to watch it. It's the whole "train wreck" phenomenon...).

We had a very nice lunch. She almost always brings me a little gift each time we get together, and today was no different.

Before I reveal the gift, let's just say that I don't wear that much jewelry. I wear my wedding/engagement rings. And when I wear black or gray (most days, honestly), I rock the ring that Buster gave me for Christmas last year. And some days, I wear earrings. A couple days a week, maybe. And I almost always wear these:

I got them at a Swarovski store in NYC a couple years ago. They were part of an Alice in Wonderland collection. And I love them.

Once every couple of weeks I may wear a necklace. I have a beautiful star pendant Swarovski necklace Buster got me, but I think it clashes with the heart earrings, so I rarely wear it. Too Lucky Charms-ish, ya know?

So that's it. The extent of the jewelry I wear.

Back to my grandmother's gift to me.

It's a Leopard. In bracelet form.

It was very sweet of her, so of course I fawned all over it. It's definitely odd, but it's actually growing on me. I can't imagine I'll wear it often, though. Maybe when we go out for dinner or the movies (pfft... the last movie we saw in a theater was the final HP).

It's really difficult to describe how much I dread going back in to my OBGYN's office. Here's a brief rundown of what was going through my (unstable) mind as I arrived at the office:

As I'm pulling up, I see someone in scrubs walking to their car:

Oh there's the ultrasound tech who did the ultrasound on the worst day of my life. I wonder if she recognizes me. Was that a look of pity she just gave me?

As I park and turn off the ignition:

Do I really want to get out of this car? Do I have to?

As I enter the building and press the up button on the elevator:

I hate this fucking elevator. [insert flashbacks of the elevator trip back downstairs with my parents after learning the devastating news]

As I get off the elevator and head towards the office, with it's glass front and glass door:

Ugh the office is packed. Look at all those pregnant ladies. Fuck. This is going to suck.

As I'm signing in:

Do the girls at the front desk remember me? Do they remember my situation?

As I sit down, directly across from a super cute pregnant girl:

This was a bad seating choice. Now I have to stare at her fucking belly until I get called back. This is the same seat my mom sat in when we were here ten days ago, waiting to get called back. I wish I still had FB on my phone so I had something to do other than stare at bellies.

As I notice a couple come out from just having an ultrasound:

They look happy. Oh, I see. They have some ultrasound pictures. She's not showing, so this must be their first appointment. First ultrasound. They are sitting exactly where Buster and I sat after our first ultrasound. Coincidence?? I'm cracking. I can't do this.

And then my eyes well up with tears. And I am the weirdo that everyone else is probably staring at and wondering why on earth she's crying. I am almost wishing someone would say SOMETHING to me. Anything. Ask me how far along I am. Say something about their pregnancy. ANYTHING.

I just wanted to shout to everyone in that waiting room that my baby DIED last week. And here you are, pregnant and happy. And me, broken and suffering.

I texted Buster:"I feel like I'm starting to crack in this waiting room. I hope I get called back soon."

He immediately calls me. I already had tears in my eyes, and just hearing his voice sets me to real tears. He asks if I'm ok. I choke out, "I will be when I get out of here." I was trying to be quiet, but I'm sure the billion pregnant ladies in earshot heard me. I hurried off the phone with him, because it wasn't doing anything for my resolve.

I eventually get called back. I can instantly tell that the nurse read my chart (good girl) and knows what I'm going through. The sympathy on her face angered me. Irrational, I know.

We head back to the room. She asks how I'm doing. "I'm ok."

How do you think I'm doing? I just had to endure 25 minutes in a waiting room full of happy couples and a sea of pregnant bellies. I can't breathe. I'm drowning in this sea.

But "ok" seemed adequate.

She leaves to get the doctor.

He comes in, asks me the same exact questions the nurse did. He presses on my stomach. He tells me that the surgery went well. He mentions that the chromosomal test results aren't in yet, but should be in 2-3 weeks. He then says that I need to have a beta done today, and again in about 10 days.

And I feel dead inside.

I ask if I can exercise and if I can have sex, the answer to both is yes.

"But be sure to use protection."

I laugh in his face.

He goes on to say that he knows we did IVF, but my body is confused and no need to confuse the situation any more.

I think he's confused. 4 1/2 years of unprotected sex left me with nothing except some fond memories and some sore muscles.

He says that anything can happen. I think he might have said something about miracles. I don't remember.

At this point I'm just internally rolling my eyes.

He's a nice guy, and really, chances are anything he said to me would have been scoffed at. He's just the messenger, right?

They will call me tomorrow with my beta results. Can't wait...

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My wonderful friend Aub is having a rough time. She is currently pregnant with twins after her second IVF (her first IVF ended in miscarriage last year). She found out yesterday that she has partial placenta previa, and has been put on bedrest. Please stop by her blog and give her some well-wishes. She is struggling with this, even though she knows it must be done for the babies.

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Thank you for all the compliments on my hair! I'm loving it. Actually, I was thinking while sitting in the waiting room today, surrounded by bumps:

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

I have been posting pretty much daily since we found out about the miscarriage. I think know it's because right now, I need the support. So please know how much I appreciate it, and how much it's helping me. If anything, it's just nice to know I'm not alone.

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I got my hair done today! I've never found a stylist that I love. Most have been just ok. None have been amazing enough for me to swear my fealty to them.

Times they are changing, friends.

I absolutely love my new cut and color. The stylist was very sweet and also had no problem telling me that what I had initially been thinking might look weird on me. She thought going full-on ombre may not work well because I wear my hair straight 90% of the time. And when you have the ombre look with straight hair, the change in color is more apparent.

She suggested that instead of ombre, she would dye the top of my hair dark brown, one shade darker than my roots. This would get rid of the weird leftover red hair color and would cover up the roots from that. But she didn't want to cover up all the reddish, because she thought it would add dimension at the bottom. Then she wanted to do some caramel highlights underneath, so when she cut my layers, all the color would be towards the bottom and underneath, so there were no drastic roots.

I decided to go with her suggestion. She's the professional, after all.

Here is a "before" photo. Granted, it's when my hair was done up nicely (nicer than normal, anyway) for my company's Christmas party. You can see some of the reddish on the top, and where my roots had started to grow out.

before

Here are some shots of the current look:

Unfortunately, none of those pictures shows the sides or back, but take my word that it is just dark brown, no funny business! I'm really liking it, and I love the fact that there's an unexpected hint of color towards the bottom/underneath.

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Buster and I got a piece of mail today. It was addressed to both of us, and then "+1" after our names. That was for the baby.

It was from Buster's cousin, who is pregnant. I excitedly sent her a message on FB after our 8 week appointment, telling her that we were also pregnant. Soon after, she messaged me wanting our address.

It was a card announcing their pregnancy.

And it made me sad. I already threw away the card, but I couldn't bring myself to throw out the envelope. Yet.

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So I did it, by the way. Deactivated my Facebook account. I had a pang of regret right after, but that soon subsided. I came home yesterday in good spirits. And again today. It's a nice change.

Thank you all for your advice regarding the FaceBreak. You are invaluable. Honestly.

I don't think I could do this without you. You know, the whole "survive" thing.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

My day goes on. Things happen. Things like a million pregnancy/baby/kid posts on Facebook. Things like me stalking the August Due Date club I had joined. Things like me being masochistic and depressing myself.

So by the time I fight traffic, get gas, and get home, my mood is not good.

And that's what Buster gets to deal with. The shattered, emotionally-drained me. Not the positive, feeling-pretty-good me. And I know that's hard for him.

Like any good husband, he hates seeing his wife unhappy. He feels helpless because he cannot cheer me up. He works hard trying to keep my spirits good, and it is wearing him out.

Yesterday when I got home, he said that he doesn't want to deal with it anymore.

After a couple deep breaths, I said that I also do not want to deal with it. At all. I wish I could erase the past three months and all the memories and all the happiness and sadness, and everything in between. Eternal Sunshine style.

And something I said resonated, because then he apologized. And I apologized for not being the best me of the day when I'm at home. That's where I want to be my best me. Not when I'm in front of a computer screen in an office, alone.

This is hard. Not only experiencing a loss and dealing with the emotional ramifications, but carrying on relationships, especially the most important one. Trying to find a balance between grieving but also maintaining your life and love.

Most of the time I feel alone.

__________________

I am really considering taking a FaceBreak. My FB feed could not be anymore baby-centric, and I'm not sure it is doing anything positive for me at the moment. Actually, I know it's contributing to my less-than-stellar moods. I hate that it's such a big decision, that I really need to think about it. Why can't I just step away? I'd love to not have to deal with it.

Monday, January 9, 2012

I'm trying to focus on upcoming good things. There aren't many I can think of right now, other than my hair appointment on Wednesday. I need a change. Hopefully getting a stylish new cut, as well as a dye job. Thinking of ombre. My hair is currently a bit of a reddish brown. Aiming to have it dark, dark brown, with some caramel ombre highlights. If my new stylist gives me any reason to doubt her ombre-ability, however, I'm going for just the normal dye job.

Here are some pics of what I'm thinking (ranging from least-dramatic to most-dramatic):

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I wish I could put forth the kind of effort I exert looking for photos of hairstyles into my work. I am working on three projects simultaneously, and can't make any headway on any of them. Now I'm starting to shut down because I'm overwhelmed. I hate this feeling. The same thing happened to me when I needed to write my thank-you cards after our wedding.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

And my day started off so well. I was feeling very positive. My blog post from yesterday is proof.

About two hours after I posted that blog entry, I get a phone call from my grandfather. The one who did not know about the miscarriage up to that point. He was asking if Buster and I wanted tickets to the university basketball game.

Well, it seemed silly to have him on the phone and not disclose my news. So, I asked to speak with my grandmother. And I told her. She was stunned. She cried. She didn't know what to say. I cried a little, but then went full-force into my positive spin, and the conversation was as pleasant as it could have been. She was proud of my strength, glad that I'm not letting this tear me apart, etc etc.

Right after we get off the phone, I get a text from a coworker. This is the same coworker who, months and months ago, was always asking if we were pregnant yet. Finally, I felt like I had to fill her in on our infertility struggles. I also let her know when we were doing IVF, and I can't tell you how incredibly happy for us she was when we finally became pregnant.

I sent her an email last week telling her about the miscarriage. She has been very supportive and sweet since then, telling our boss and several of my coworkers so I didn't have to.

She's never been to my house. She tried to find it based off of what I had told her, but she texted me asking where exactly it was. She was on my street. No warning.

And she came bearing fruit. A really nice fruit basket that my company bought. Yes, this was very sweet. But I am not a fan of unannounced visits. Especially right after I hang up the phone from telling my grandmother I had a miscarriage.

So I talk with her a bit. She asks how I'm doing, blah blah blah. I just wasn't wanting to deal with any of this. All I wanted to do was go run my errands and go about my day.

After she leaves, I finally get out to run my errands. One of which includes WalMart. Nothing like going to WalMart on a Saturday afternoon, when it is most crowded. I'm a masochist, yes?

It takes me about an hour to do all the shopping I need to in WalMart. I head out with all my bags and load them into the Jeep. I pull out, driving down the parking "aisle" towards the exit.

I see a car cutting across parking spaces and aisles (lanes? whatever.), heading directly towards me. I'm just driving, legally, down the lane towards the exit. I didn't slow down, because I assumed they would stop. I mean, they were the one driving ILLEGALLY, right?

Well, the old lady does not stop. She pulls in front of me. I throw my hands up in frustration, all the while spewing expletives and questioning the fact that she is behind a wheel at all.

She swings around me, obviously looking for a parking space. She stops though, and her driver's side window and my driver's side window are facing one another, about two feet apart. She must have seen me throw my hands up and seen my mouth moving at a fast speed. She says, in seriously the most annoying voice ever,

"Excuuuuuuuuuuse me??"

Really? Like you did nothing wrong here? I just enjoy cursing out old lady's for the fuck of it??

I couldn't even dignify her with any words. So I flipped her off. Right to her face. And sped away.

And right then, I say out loud to myself,

"Maybe I'm not doing as well as I thought."

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Today marks what would have been my 10-weeks-pregnant milestone. I'm attempting not to dwell on that fact, but it's there, in the back of my mind. I can't believe it's only been six days since we found out that our baby no longer had a heartbeat. I feel like it's been centuries.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Well, it was over this past Monday, but it's officially, unequivocally over.

There is no more baby inside of me.

And I don't feel as empty as I expected.

I had to ask Buster last night if something was wrong with me that I wasn't more distraught. Obviously I'm sad. Obviously I have been and am mourning the loss of my first-ever pregnancy.

But somehow, the realization that there is no longer a lifeless baby inside of me has lifted this immense burden of sadness and grief from me.

Not all of it. Never will it all be gone.

But the chunk of sadness and grief that rendered me a walking zombie has been lifted.

I feel some... relief.

Do you think I'm weird? Uncaring? Buster has reassured me that I'm not, but I can't help feeling it.

A good friend had a d&c after discovering a miscarriage at 10 weeks. She told me that she was in a vicious depression for 3 weeks, and that I should expect to really be hurting.

And don't get me wrong, I'm hurting. But I am ready to start healing. Physically and emotionally.

I have a theory on this. Maybe it's a bunch of horseshit, who knows. But it's my current theory on perhaps why I'm feeling so... resilient?

Infertility.

I have learned to expect disappointment. I know pain and sorrow. I know yearning and wanting and jealousy and sorrow. Never to this level, granted. But I've experienced years of it.

And it has made me stronger and more resilient than I ever could have imagined.

Someone who has not endured the same kind of struggle, a process that is coming up on it's 5-year anniversary, may be more heavily affected by the news of a miscarriage.

Does that make any sense?

It does in my warped mind.

But as I said up above, I am hurting. But I'm ready to move on. The d&c was the biggest hurdle in my way, and now it's done. I'm ready to get back to being me.

We have three snowbabies in NYC. We will be doing another FET when my body gets back to normal. I realize that my next period may not be for 2 or 3 months. And I'm ok with that (although I was bummed to hear that initially). I plan to use that time to focus on me. Much like I did after my failed IUIs in the beginning of this year, I am going to work on becoming a healthier me.

I have gained six pounds since the start of our FET. And even then I was seven pounds heavier than I was when I lost the 20+ pounds. I think losing a bit of this pudge will make me feel better. Right now I have to wear the stupid belly band to fit in my pants, and I reallllly don't want to keep having to use that thing. I'm ready to throw it in the box with all my pregnancy books and magazine and not look at it for a while.

So that's where I am today. I'm starting my recovery. Starting to allow some optimism for the future in.

_______________________

Per my request, the POC (products of conception... aka my baby and all the stuff surrounding it that was removed from me yesterday) was sent off to be tested for chromosomal abnormalities. As off as this may sound, I'm really hoping it was a chromosomal issue. I don't want this to be immune related. I want it to be bad luck.

_______________________

Today I have to do something I've been putting off since Monday. I need to tell my grandparents about the miscarriage.

They were on vacation in Palm Beach this past week. They got home last night.

I didn't want to tell them while they were on vacation. I know they will be devastated. I can't even explain to you how excited they were. They LOVE babies. LOVE.

And in a different way than my parents. I think it's mostly due to the fact that my parents have no grandchildren. My grandparents have eight. And they LOVE babies. Have I mentioned that?

I got a text yesterday from my grandma that they had safely arrived back in Pittsburgh. She also included some cute baby girl names that they heard while around the pool at their posh hotel.

Ugh.

So, now I have to break the bad news. And I know it's stupid, but I feel guilty for ruining their day. I know, I know. That's asinine, right? But I can't help it. That's how I am. I'm a people pleaser, and I hate disappointing anyone.

And they will certainly be disappointed. Not in me, I know. But still.

Do I text? Call? Stop over? I don't know what to do.

I didn't have to do this with my parents, as they were in the room with me and experienced my heartbreak first-hand. So, I don't have this kind of experience.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Honestly, it wasn't even close to half as horrible as The Appointment. I knew what to expect. I was not holding out any hope that the tech had made a mistake. That seemed too masochistic, and I've felt enough pain this week to last me a lifetime.

Thankfully, one of my fears was alleviated as soon as I checked in. I asked the sweet receptionist (who has been going back and forth with me each week trying to get my paperwork from each ultrasound appointment to my clinic in NYC) if the ultrasound tech will know what's going on with us, because I don't want them to feel like they are giving me the bad news for the first time. She said that it's actually the same girl from Monday's awful appointment, so she is familiar with our situation.

So, a small crisis averted there.

Buster and I head back to the room, holding hands, looking somber. I get up on the table while Buster positions himself on the loveseat, as close to me as he can. I get my clothing adjusted, and we resume holding hands.

The ultrasound tech didn't say anything during the ultrasound. And that was fine with me. I didn't say anything, either. But I did watch the screen. It was my last chance to see my baby. To see the only baby I've ever been pregnant with. The baby who would have been so spoiled by both sets of grandparents, because he or she would have been the first grandchild.

The baby we have waited close to five years for.

Buster looked at the screen, too. A couple times I had fits of tears, but I tried my best to keep my composure so the tech could do her job.

When she was done, she left the room to get my doctor.

I looked over at Buster, and his eyes had a sheen to them. I just stared at him, and the only thing I could muster enough energy to say was,

"Our poor little baby."

He took my hand with both hands and said he loved me, and just continued to look at me.

Most of the time his blue eyes gave me strength, but there was a fleeting thought about if the baby would have had his blue eyes that set me to tears again.

The ultrasound tech came back in and said that my doctor was available, and we needed to go down the hall to meet with him. When he entered, he looked very sad for us. He knew about the clinical trial, as I had gone to him for all of my pre-IVF testing. He also knew about our infertility struggle.

He explained my options, which I already knew. I told him we would move forward with the D&C, and he said that's the route most women choose. Then he asked my blood type, and I told him it was O-. He then informed me that I needed a Rhogam shot before I left.

I asked my doctor if they could run the chromosome tests on the baby. He said he thinks it's too small at 9 weeks to be able to do so. Now, I know from what I've read online, women have had this testing done at this stage. But my doctor says that maybe at a research lab or some other facility, but he doesn't think the pathologists here will be able to. But he's going to ask them, just in case.

We then walked down the hall to surgery scheduling, and scheduled my D&C for 2:00 p.m. today. I didn't think they would be able to get me in so quickly, but I'm thankful they did.

Before leaving, I met with a different nurse for the Rhogam shot. We were chatting as I unbuttoned my pants and pulled them down a bit so she could get to my lower back/upper butt area. While I was mid-sentence, she practically took a running start and jabbed me so fast and hard with the syringe it made my whole right cheek tense up and remain that way. WTF. There's something to be said about getting it over with, but that was just ridiculous. My ass is really sore today.

So now I'm just killing time before we need to leave for the hospital. I'm not allowed to eat or drink anything today, so I'm fully anticipating my lack-of-coffee headache to hit me right around the time we need to be at the hospital.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

I decided to move my "confirmation of baby death" ultrasound up a day. I just want to move this process along.

So, it's today at 11:30 EST.

Initially, I wanted to go alone. Buster was spared the heartache of the earth-shattering appointment. Why not continue shielding him from this pain? The protector in me wants him to not feel any of this sorrow that is consuming me.

But, he's already feeling this sorrow. And when I told him what I said to you, up in that last paragraph, he replied with,

"We are in this together, and I want to be there."

God, I love that man.

So, the big question in my mind is do I look at the screen, or not? I think this will be an in-the-moment decision, as I can see benefits and drawbacks to both options.

Also, is the ultrasound tech going to know why I'm there? Do I need to give them a brief rundown prior to me climbing up on that table? I don't want them to be expecting to see an alive baby. I don't want them to feel like they have to tell me the bad news for the first time. Been there, done that.

And I didn't tell anyone, other than Buster, that I moved my appointment up a day. I purposely did not tell my mom last night when she called me. I just don't have the energy to talk about it.

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I want to acknowledge the fact that yes, my blogging has taken a depressing turn. Everything is quite gray in my eyes at the moment. I hope you bear with me, because I have to believe it will get better. And my positive posts will come back. Just not quite yet.

And I have to say, blogging has been incredibly therapeutic in this whole ordeal. Putting my feelings into typed words brings me some kind of peace. And control. Control in a time when I can't really control much.

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Yesterday, at times, I was shocked to realize how well I was doing, given the circumstances. There were times when I laughed. Times when I wasn't thinking of the bad stuff.

But then, out of nowhere, the sorrow would grab me and pull me back down to that place where you feel as if you'll never get out.

One of these times was when listening to the song "Someday the Waves" by Iron & Wine. Ok, I'll admit, listening to Iron & Wine when feeling sad is just asking for trouble. But, it's not my fault! It came on Pandora!

This verse rendered me a blubbering mess (the kind where you are sucking in air trying to hold in sobs, but failing miserably):

Someday the waves will stopEvery aching old machine will feel no painSomeday we both will walkWhere a baby made tomorrow is again

You can't blame me, right?

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And on a final random note, I'm angry that I even have to have a label for "miscarriage" on my blog.

I put makeup on this morning. I had to do something to make myself feel better. To feel pretty. To feel normal.

Much like the title states, I feel as though I have a steady flow of sorrow inside. Like I'm hooked up to some kind of IV from hell. Just enough sorrow to remind me of my pain, but not enough to send me into any kind of pain-induced fits or a comatose state.

I have so much work to do. But all I'm accomplishing is staring. Staring out the window at the snow on the bank. Staring at my computer screen. Staring into my coffee.

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What is it about a miscarriage and people suggesting surrogacy?

From the American Pregnancy Association's website:

Studies reveal that anywhere from 10-25% of all clinically recognized pregnancies will end in miscarriage.

Obviously neither my mother or mother-in-law know about this statistic.

I know they mean well. But come on.

The evening after the appointment, Buster was on the phone with his mother. And she was saying that she will do whatever she can to help us, etc etc. Then some how, some way she brings up surrogacy. Like maybe we should consider it. I'm not sure exactly what was said, and I don't know how Buster responded.

But he told me after their phone call, and I was just a little shocked. Ok, I really had nothing left in me to feel shock. But I was still taken aback.

I guess people don't realize how common miscarriage is. Or how expensive surrogacy is. Or how maybe that's not what I want to hear on the day I found out my baby died.

Yesterday I was on the phone with my mom. She has been really broken up over all of this. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that she and my dad were in the ultrasound room with me. But the other reason this is affecting her so much is because it's bringing back memories.

When I was six, I had a two-month-old brother who passed away due to a heart defect (truncus arteriosis). Even though what my parents went through back then was WAY more painful than what I'm going through now, just the whole loss thing has really made these painful memories resurface for my mom.

So much so that yesterday morning I felt like I was having to console her and cheer her up. I didn't mind, but I really didn't have much in me to be able to do it very well.

Later in the afternoon, she seemed to be feeling better. I told her that I spoke with my clinic, and what they said. We talk about plans for the future, what I'd like to see happen, what I'm going to ask my clinic, etc.

She then says the most asinine thing imaginable.

"You know, I read a story in People magazine where a mother carried a baby for her daughter. I would do that for you."

Um.

Thanks?

Are you fucking kidding me??

I don't know much about surrogacy. And no offense, but right now is not a time I want to learn anything about it.

(I hope this whole rant doesn't make me sound anti-surrogacy. Because I'm not. I would definitely pursue that option someday, given the necessity. Right now I don't feel that it's anywhere close to being a necessity.)

Can a 55-year-old woman who has had a partial hysterectomy even be a surrogate?

And more importantly, is that what I would want?

She then made some joke about my sister's puppy, and how like the little pup, she might never want to give the baby back.

Aha. Ha. Ha.

I'm not in the mood to laugh, mom. I didn't say that, of course. I just brushed it off and got off the phone. Then sat there shaking my head.

Something about bad things happening to others brings out the dumb comments, right? I know many of you have experienced this. And I had too, relating to infertility.

Maybe it's not when a bad thing happens to someone, but maybe it's when people are just uninformed and ignorant. They don't know what to say, so they end up usually saying the wrong things.

I don't know what the right things are. There's really nothing anyone can say that makes me feel better. But I do appreciate knowing that I have support.

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And this brings me to my final thought. In this dark time, I have taken great comfort in the comments of support and sadness posted by you, my friends and readers of my blog. Something about feeling loved and supported makes things not seem so bleak.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Last night there were moments where I forgot I had a dead baby in my stomach. I actually thought that maybe, just maybe, I would feel better in the morning. Maybe a bit normal.

I was wrong. Once again. Seems to be a common theme, right? My naivety and incorrect assumptions.

I had nightmares last night. One particularly vivid one involved me meeting with a group of girlfriends who presented me with baby presents. Just one look at the little baby clothes and cute gifts set me to tears, and I had to tell them that my baby was no longer alive.

It was awful.

I woke up several times over the course of the night, and my first thought as soon as I woke up was, "I'm no longer pregnant."

Then I would get flashbacks of the appointment. The haunting, apologetic voice of the ultrasound tech saying,

"I'm not actually finding a heartbeat."

And then that phrase would repeat in my head, on a loop. And I thought maybe I was going crazy. Certifiably so.

When I finally did get out of bed, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror brought the onset of more tears. My eyes were super dark and puffy. Never before have they looked that bad.

At that point, I really decided to stay home from work. I have so much to do at work that I was planning on just powering through it, but the way I felt this morning wasn't conducive to powering through anything. Except maybe a box of tissues. Or a dozen chocolate chip cookies from the grocery store bakery.

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I heard from my RE's office just a few minutes ago. They want me to go in for another ultrasound this week, just to confirm everything.

That's going to be fun.

But then once it's confirmed for sure, I will schedule a D&C. My RE's office prefers this route, so they can be sure there is no tissue hanging around, since we will be moving forward with another FET in the near future.

Also, I can stop the Lovenox and Dexamethasone, but I need to continue on with the Progesterone supps and the Estradiol. Ugh. Apparently the reason for continuing on with the Progesterone and Estradiol is because if I stop them, I may have some unpleasant bleeding. Well, if it will stave off some bleeding, I'll continue on I suppose. At least I don't have to stab myself again for a while.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Our 9 week ultrasound was today. Today was the day I would be released from my RE. Today was the day I would see little arm and leg buds on my baby bean. Today was the day my parents, who went with me to the ultrasound, would see my little peanut on the big screen.

Instead, today was the day I found out our baby has no heartbeat. Today was the day I sobbed uncontrollably on the ultrasound table while trying to tell the ultrasound technician that last week the baby had a strong heartbeat of 157 bpm. Today was the day I saw my parents sobbing over the loss of their potential first grandchild.

Today was the day I had to call Buster and tell him that our baby had no heartbeat.

Just like I will never, ever forget the experience of our first ultrasound when we heard our baby's heart beating, I will never forget this ultrasound. Or the silence of a heart that doesn't beat. Or the final image of my baby on the monitor. It is forever burned into my memory.

My baby had grown since last week. They didn't say this, but I'm assuming that sometime in the past couple of days was when the heart stopped. It obviously happened sometime after Tuesday, which was my 8 week ultrasound.

I know it's not my fault, but I can't shake the feeling that it is. Even if it's nothing I did, it's my body. I blame my immune issues. It's too much of a coincidence.

We will continue trying. After all, that's all we know. But first, I have to wait to pass my baby.

About Me

After battling infertility for 5+ years, Buster and I (along with some doctors and embryologists) made a baby: Henry. He was born in January of 2013, and we've been navigating first-time-parenthood ever since.